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The sun is shining strongly in the clear sky despite the early hour, promising another beautiful day. The pharaoh's servants bring some bread and fruit for his breakfast. The dates and figs are so fresh they may have been from the palace's own grounds; the bread has fewer rocks in it from the grinding process than usual. He thanks his attendants for the meal and proceeds with his day.

The gardens around the pool outside the royal apartments are in full bloom, the petals of the jasmine and chrysanthemum flowers so bright that they almost hurt to look at. The pharaoh turns his eyes to the blue of the water and the softer colours of the lotus flowers floating therein instead. One of the palace's many cats rubs against his leg as he admires the scenery; he bends down to scratch her behind the ears. It's a black one, and he's always had a particular fondness for black cats.

He passes through the library, greeting the scribes and students as they pay their respects. He bids them to go back to their scrolls and papyri. Egypt's arts and sciences aren't the envy of the known world because its scholars are the most deferent, he tells them. Most of their smiles are uncertain, not sure how to handle a joke from their divine ruler, but they do as he says with some relief.

Next, he pays a visit to the royal physicians. His court doesn't approve of his interest in medicine and beg him only to see them when he requires their services, but the pharaoh finds their work fascinating, and none has the authority to order him to stop. Today, he watches as they disinfect a wound with honey, cure a headache with herbs and ostrich eggs, and provide a bronze replacement eye for one of his injured guardsmen. The eye is wonderfully crafted; the palace smiths have done a fine job on it. It will never see, of course, but it flashes fiercely in the light of the sun.

Afterwards, he takes one of his barges for a short trip down the Nile. The soil on the bank is black and soft, the way it will be in the fields when the river floods once again. The fishermen lining the banks looking for their next meal wave as the pharaoh passes by. He returns their gesture and wonders if the prices of food are getting too high. A young crocodile swims past their boat, but remains peaceful. The pharaoh says a prayer of thanks to the gods; the beasts of his nation -- the crocodiles, the hippopotamuses, the rhinoceroses, the lions, even the monkeys, on occasion -- are not to be trifled with. Only a hunting party prepared with spears and blades should try to engage them.

Dinner is quite simple today. Pork, some beans, hearts from the palm trees, more bread with the olive oil they import from the north and east. To drink, the beer made from grains from the nearby farms. On celebratory occasions there would be roast fowl and fish, and many desserts with fruit and honey, but tonight is as any other and the pharaoh sees no reason to trouble the kitchens quite so much.

Before retiring, he goes to the temple to make his offerings to the many gods. He reflects briefly on the next world, and the preparations he will have to make for his eventual burial and judgement by Anubis and Ma'at.

He finishes each prayer by thanking the deities for their blessings. After all, who has been more fortunate than the king of this most bountiful, most cultured, most beautiful land?